


Jinxed For A Good Cause

by araliya



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 11:30:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13363824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/araliya/pseuds/araliya
Summary: In which Darren is a babysitter, and Chris is pissed.





	Jinxed For A Good Cause

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt: c loses his voice and d is fussing over him, not letting him talk or anything, and c is mad (not really tho ;D) and keeps trying to break the rules but d is strict and is taking care of him :) (can it be before they were together- so either early cc or just after glee and they get together in the process- like maybe d falls asleep next to c?) thanks so much!!! :)
> 
> Okay so I fkn LOVE the whole falling asleep trope, so I got a bit carried away.

_I cannot believe this is happening._

 

Chris types out the sentence on his phone huffily, fingers jabbing the buttons on his Blackberry viciously before he turns the screen to Darren.

 

The evil bastard _laughs_ , (and sure he might be evil but that doesn’t stop Chris from internally swooning), and pats Chris’ outstretched hand sympathetically. “It’s for the best, Chris.”

 

Chris opens his mouth to speak, but immediately Darren’s onto him. “Nu-uh, no way. We’ve got two days for you to recuperate, and we’re not wasting a single minute.”

 

Chris clamps his mouth shut so hard that his teeth clack together, and Darren makes a face that’s a cross between amused and a wince. Ha. That should make him feel bad.

 

They’re on tour, and it’s not even the first week but it’s just Chris’ luck that he’s lost his fucking voice. On a live tour. Where he has solos. To top it off, if sounding like a dying frog isn’t bad enough, he’s been hit with a killer of a cold, complete with a pounding headache and the tomato nose.

 

Darren has (a little suspiciously) volunteered to take care of him, and it’s not like he actually needs any help, but Chris is pretty grateful all the same. Darren grabbed the opportunity like a girl trying to get the bride’s bouquet, assuring everyone else who had even shown any _remote_ concern over Chris’ wellbeing that they were _absolutely fine_.

 

Ah well. It’s not like Chris is complaining- Darren’s like a very cute, very eager puppy, (emphasis on the cute), and the fact that he’s straight-but-really-not-so-straight is a total bonus. He’s heard Darren’s college escapades to very intimate detailing, and okay, he’s jealous, but there’s a perk to everything, and this one is that Chris might _actually_ have a chance.

 

Well, maybe. Who is Chris kidding? He’s only lost a marginal amount of his puppy fat, not to mention that, next to Darren, he looks like a twelve year old boy.

 

The sound of Darren re-entering his hotel room bursts Chris out of his wallowing, and he eyes Darren’s full hands warily. He’s about to speak when he realises that he _can’t_ , so he resigns himself to pointing.

 

“Lea’s lemon tea,” explains Darren, sitting down next to Chris on the bed and opening the flask for him to sniff. Chris wrinkles his nose. It smells like a rotten lime.

 

“I know it smells like ass, but she told me to tell you to trust her, and that it’s saved her from many a catastrophe on Broadway.”

 

Chris grabs his Blackberry and thanks God for the qwerty keyboard that enables easy typing.

 

_Why didn’t she bring it to me herself?_

 

Darren screws the cap back on the flask and swivels the lid so that Chris can sip from the opening. “She might catch your cold, and she’s got like a million solos so she can’t risk it.” He keeps his eyes trained on the flask while he says it, and Chris raises an eyebrow.

 

_What are you doing here, then, Head Warbler?_

 

Darren holds the flask out towards Chris, tilting it like he’s actually going to _feed it to him_ , but Chris makes an indignant face and takes it into his own hands.

 

“Nah, I never get sick, man.”

 

 _Careful, you might jinx yourself_.

 

Darren laughs and stretches, bringing his arms up over his head. Chris takes a sip, enjoying the sensation of the hot liquid soothing his raw throat, and tries not to stare at the sliver of olive skin that’s been exposed at Darren’s waist. It taunts him even worse when Darren actually lies down next to Chris, exposing the sinful dusting of hair that trails down, down, down…

 

Okay, no. No ogling your best friend. He takes a too-fast mouthful of the tea and almost chokes, spluttering helplessly, and immediately Darren’s sitting up and rubbing Chris’ back in soothing circles.

 

“Woah, woah, slow down!”

 

Chris glares at him, but can’t stop himself from leaning into Darren’s touch. That’s another thing Chris has trouble dealing with: how tactile Darren is. It’s intoxicating and Chris can’t get enough of it, not to mention it makes it really fucking hard not to fall in love with the asshole.

 

And how could Chris not, with those hands all over him all the damn time, running through his hair, and trailing across his shoulders, making Chris think things he really _shouldn’t_ if he doesn’t want his heart broken.

 

“By the way,” Darren says, like it’s an afterthought, “there’s a heavy dose of Nyquil in there, so you might fall asleep pretty soon.”

 

Chris scrambles for his phone, almost knocking over the flask in his haste.

 

_What the hell?! You’re not allowed to drug me!_

 

Darren holds up his hands in surrender. “Please no Scary Chris, save it all for Lea! It’s part of her concoction!”

 

Chris continues to keep his eyes narrowed at Darren, who pouts like a five year old. And damn him for still managing to look like the most adorable thing Chris has ever seen.

 

He has no more time to feel mad at Darren because he can slowly feel his eyelids drooping of their own accord. Somewhere between Chris’ weird state of almost-asleep-but-not-quite, Darren gently takes the flask out of his hands and puts it aside, guiding Chris down onto the bed.

 

He’s vaguely aware of someone putting something warm and heavy over his shoulders, and a gentle hand push back the hair from his forehead, but Chris is asleep before he can fully realise that that someone is Darren.

 

***

Chris wakes up extremely warm. He seems to have tangled himself up in a stifling cocoon in his sleep, and now he’s practically sweating. He reaches blindly for his phone in the darkness, and the little numbers tell him that it’s a quarter to eleven at night.

 

Chris fully expects Darren to have left by now (the others had taken advantage of a free night to go clubbing), but when he rolls over he finds that’s not the case. Darren is sprawled out on his back atop the covers (seriously, how does anyone sleep like that?) and the dark splash of his eyelashes on his cheeks makes Chris’ throat go drier than it already is.

 

That coupled with the fact that Darren’s so close that his thigh and arm are pressed right up against Chris’ and the heat of his skin is making Chris flush with a different kind of warmth.

 

Of course, this is the moment where Chris’ body decides that it’s a _great_ time to have a coughing fit. He wheezes as silently as he can, throwing a hand out to grab the flask of miracle tea, but before he’s even got the opening to his lips, Darren’s awake, blinking confusedly into the darkness.

 

Immediately, he’s sitting up with one hand rubbing soothing circles into Chris’ back, and the other helping him tip back the flask, fingers resting gently on the back of his hand.

 

“S-sorry,” Chris croaks out, forgetting the rules for a moment, but Darren’s shushing him and coaxing more tea down his throat.

 

“Hey, hey, no talking,” he admonishes quietly, and it takes a moment to register that Darren’s almost all the way curled around him, to the point where their thighs are tangled. Darren continues rubbing Chris’s back until he’s stopped coughing and his eyes are no longer watering.

 

“Go back to sleep,” Darren says, putting the flask back on the bedside table, and pushing on Chris’ shoulder gently until he lays back down on his side.

 

He hears the rustling of the bedsheets, and suddenly Darren’s sliding under the covers with him, sidling up to Chris’ body so that his arm hooks over Chris’ waist, pulling him closer.

 

The last thing Chris registers before blackness overtakes him, is the feeling of soft lips at his neck, and Darren whispering, “Sleep, baby.”

 

***

Chris wakes up warm, _again_ , and this time (holy fucking _shit_ ) it’s not because he’s tangled up in the sheets again.

 

Nope.

 

It’s because, through some divine intervention, he’s tangled up in Darren Criss’ arms.

 

 _Please don’t cough, please don’t cough, please don’t cough_ , he begs himself, freezing like a board under Darren’s loose embrace. He can feel the tickle of Darren’s curls at the nape of his neck, and the line of his thigh where it’s tucked under Chris’.

 

It’s the most intimate he’s ever been with anyone in his life.

 

And of course, Chris starts coughing.

 

Darren wakes with a startle, and god, Chris is _so_ grateful that this coughing fit only only lasts a few seconds, so that Darren doesn’t have to deal with trying to make it better. Chris turns to face him, wiping the tears from his eyes, and he tries not to freak out over how close they are.

 

“I’m so sor-” he starts croakily, but Darren’s forefinger is on his lips, stopping the words from coming out. Chris’ eyes widen, and okay, he’s totally allowed to freak out now.

 

And then suddenly, it’s not a finger on his mouth, but Darren’s _lips_ , and Chris might be hyperventilating if it weren’t for the fact that he’s actually stopped breathing.

 

For several blissful seconds, it’s just the slick slide of lips against lips, the warmth and wetness of it making Chris’ toes curl, and his fingers fist themselves in the sleeves of Darren’s shirt. They part eventually, gasping, and Chris thinks that if the current Darren wasn’t Sleepy Darren, he’d probably be apologising all flustered and gentlemanly, but he’s not.

 

Instead, he’s staring at Chris like he might just be the most beautiful thing in the world, and Chris thinks that if he looks into those intoxicating eyes any longer, he’ll probably explode.

 

Chris distracts himself by letting go of Darren’s shirt (to which Darren let’s out an _adorable_ noise of protest), to pick up his phone from the bedside table. He turns back around to Darren, letting him curl his arms around his waist again, while Chris holds his phone between them.

 

_You’re going to regret that._

 

Darren’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, and- oh god, is that _hurt_?

 

_You’re going to regret that as in you’re going to get sick._

 

Darren lets out an audible sigh of relief, and laughs quietly. “I don’t get sick, remember?”  


***

 

Two nights and a torturously long coach ride later, Darren gets sick.


End file.
